What Makes a King
by Mischieff
Summary: It is over a year after the end of the Blight, when an incident at Fort Draken causes Alistair to consider what it takes to be a king. A hardened/changed Alistair and F!Cousland story. Original story has been added to and split into two chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Alistair looked out over the main hall of Fort Drakon. It had been well over a year since they had fought their way though this tower to the rooftop to fight the archdemon. In some ways, it felt like it only a day or two had passed since then, and in others it felt like another lifetime, someone else's lifetime, in fact. The fort looked much the same except for the darkspawn, of course, but a lot had happened since the end of the blight. For one his hair was longer, goatee fuller. He could do that since didn't have to wear a helmet all the time now, and besides Kathryn liked it that way. Most recently he had weathered his first landsmeet as king. He hadn't been too worried, figured it couldn't be worse than the first one. With the blight and civil war ended, most were very supportive and willing to give him a chance. Then of course marrying a Cousland, especially one who had lead the battle against the blight and had slain the archdemon herself, didn't hurt. In fact, there is little doubt that his marriage appeased many of the nobles concerned with his lack of training and education, but that was a bonus. He loved her more than he even thought it possible to love anything, and thanked the Maker that she not only wanted to be his wife but was willing to be queen.

However, he also knew that despite all, people have short memories and there are always people who stand to benefit from a change in leadership and then there were those who had supported Loghain and Howe and had lost much when he became king, if he proved to be a poor king, he could lose his throne. His... throne. Funny how that's exactly how he thought of it, as his throne. Especially considering how much he had protested against being appointed. At least at first he had, but somewhere, sometime during the blight, he had changed. During the Landsmeet, Kathryn had asked him who she should appoint ruler of Ferelden and he had said with more conviction than anything in his life to appoint him. Granted he didn't trust Anora but he had wanted the throne, wanted to be king and wanted to be a good king. He wanted to prove that he could rule the country and rule it well, that he could hold the country together, that he could lead it through the blight and its aftermath. He wanted to prove it to... well, everyone but mostly to himself and if he was honest he wanted to prove it to a father he had never meet and never would and who would never know that his bastard son had become king.

He had concluded his business and prepared to return to the palace. He had a very important appointment with the library's mouser, a glass of brandy, and a book on political theory. Kathryn had quite obviously been raised to be a teyrn, in case something had happened to Fergus and he suspected to be a backup queen to Anora. (He tried not to think about that too much, the idea of Cailan and Kathryn literally made his skin crawl.) She had, at his asking, suggested books for him to read in order to learn about governing. He had worried that they would be tedious or more likely too complicated for him to even understand but that had not proven to be the case, at all. In fact, he found he enjoyed them. The librarian had let slip that many of these had been given to Cailan but he had not read them, preferring the books on history, myths and legends. Somehow, Alistair wasn't surprised.

He made his parting comments to the captain, and then felt the cold air blow through the hall as the main doors opened. A group of soldiers, battle hardened, tough and no-nonsense came through. He could feel the atmosphere in the room change, the tension level double and then double again. He looked to the captain with a questioning look. "Members of Loghain's army." The group came in but stopped when they saw him. He had the feeling they had been waiting, if not praying, for this opportunity.

"Look, men!" said one soldier, who looked like he had seen a lot of action in his time. The kind of person you didn't want to meet in a dark alley or on the battlefield, or anywhere else for that matter. If Alistair could be intimidated, he no doubt would be. So, he figured, it was a good thing he couldn't be. But still he had a feeling that things were going to get ugly. "The bastard!" the soldier said loud enough for everyone in the entire hall to hear.

The captain turned to him. "Sounds like someone wants a few days in solitary."

"No." Alistair said. "You can't punish him for speaking the truth. I am a bastard. Everyone knows that."

"Still, he should have more respect. This is your king." The captain said to the solider. The man stared at him. Yes, Alistair thought, this was going to get ugly.

"Your king, maybe. But he isn't our king. No, we will not bow knee to the murderer of a hero, to one who stole the throne from the rightful queen." The soldier said, his voice getting louder and louder.

"We fought a duel for the crown and he lost. " Alistair said with complete composure. "I didn't murder him. I executed him... for crimes against Ferelden, for the murder of its king, and the destruction of an entire army to cover it up. He may have saved this country once, but he was going to destroy it. Someone had to stop him, before the blight destroyed everything, if there was anything left of this country to destroy after he got done with it."

"You expect us to believe all that. He was a hero! He loved this country, fought for it before you were even born. There is no way that you... fought and defeated him." The soldier shouted, not that he needed to, everyone was listening.

Alistair stepped towards the soldier and lowered his voice. "I have faced an archdemon, fought a darkspawn hoard, defeated demons and abominations beyond number. I have killed more people than you can count, including Loghain. Do you think for a moment that I'm afraid of you?"

"You only survived because of the warden. She's the hero, you are no better than her whore." The soldier said. "But she isn't here to save you now, is she? What are you without the fancy armor and the enchanted sword? Nothing, that's what. Just some bastard that your father was too ashamed of to claim as his own."

"You've said your piece. No doubt you felt you had to... take some measure of revenge for a man you loved. I get that. But that's enough. Unless you are planning on doing something other than talking, I have better things to do." Alistair turned away from the man and started towards the entrance.

The soldier called after him. "What can I do? Here? Surrounded by your army. If it were a fair fight I'd take you down. Anyone of us could, easily. But here you're safe and you know it. Everyone here knows that you don't have the stones to fight us."

Alistair stopped and closed his eyes for a moment. "Maker, forgive me." He murmured to himself. Then he opened his eyes, set his jaw and then turned to face the soldier. "That sounded like a challenge. A formal challenge. A... um... demand for blood rights for the death of your general and... I accept. There are enough witness here, so it's legal." He pulled off his armored gloves, unbuckled the royal breastplate and removed it, then took off his armored boots and threw them into a pile, placing his shield on top. The sword he laid carefully next to them. "So, by right and under penalty of death, no one can interfere."

The soldier looked at the rest and then suspiciously at the king. "Nice show but you wouldn't dare." The solider said.

"Actually I already did. Didn't I, captain?" Alistair said. All head turned to look at the captain, who was shocked beyond words. He could do little more than nod. There is little respected more than the old ways, the rights of blood and the honor of a formal duel. Whatever happened the king was on his own. He prayed that he knew what he was doing. Mummers went through the growing crowd. Within moments it seemed as if the entire population of the fort, if not the city, was there. Alistair picked up a simple wooden shield from a nearby weapon rack. It had been some time since he had used one of these. He tested it to make sure it was solid and then walked off several paces from where the soldier stood. Standing there, in little more than his woolen undershirt and breeches, with only the wooden shield as a weapon, Alistair said "Are you ready?"

"Damn right, I am!" was the answer that echoed from the other end of the hall.

The soldier threw down his cloak to reveal a set of high grade medium strength armor that marked him as a captain or lieutenant or perhaps an elite guard. Even better, Alistair thought. The soldier unsheathed his greatsword which was also high grade, probably silverite. The edge nicked from the many battles it had participated in but still sharp. Alistair could tell by the way he walked and set himself that he was well-trained with lots of experience, sure of himself and his ability, which no doubt was considerable. But the soldier had underestimated him, he could tell by the look on his face, by the showy swings he took for the crowd. He thinks I'm Cailan. Alistair thought. He took a quick look to the people surrounding them, and he had to suppress a smile. They all do. He could see the looks of worry on their faces, the thought racing through their minds... this poor boy against a real solider... the fight is already over, the victor assured.

But I'm not Cailan, he thought. I'm not some pampered child reading fairy tales about kings and dragons, sleeping on silk sheets and mattresses of goose down, given golden armor and priceless weapons he barely knows how to use. He had slept in a barn, trained with weapons since he was a boy, barely strong enough to lift a wooden sword, trained for hours upon hours, at times from daybreak to dusk, till bruised and exhausted, with the broken bones and old scars to prove it. His hands were calloused from gripping his sword and shield in battle, not soft from lifting jeweled gobbets at banquets. He had lost count of the number of men, mages and monsters that had died by his hand. He wasn't some spoiled prince pretending to rule. He was a warrior and a king. It was about time they all figured that out. They were right, however. The fight was already over, the victor assured, just not the one they thought.

The soldier charged, and with a perfectly timed and measured swing, attacked. Alistair knew that any unblocked hit he took would probably be fatal. Trick was not to get hit. He waited for the swing and then easily stepped aside. As the soldier's momentum took him forward past Alistair, he gave the solider a gentle kick in the lower back to over balance him and send him flying and crashing face first into the floor. Nervous laughter could be heard in the crowd. The solider gained his feet. Good, Alistair thought, now he's embarrassed and angry. The soldier charged again. Alistair stepped into the blow, preventing the swing from reaching full power. He withstood the blow without the slightest buckling, and then bashed the sword back and the soldier with it. Didn't expect that, did you? Alistair thought. But didn't need an answer. The soldier then set and started an attack, but Alistair could see that it was a fake. He let it go and waited for the secondary strike, blocking it. The soldier quickly countered with a series of swings, driving him back. Alistair was patient and waited, blocking and dodging as needed and then as his timing slowed, the soldier adjusted his footing, and he attacked. Knocking the sword back, and getting too close to the soldier for the sword to be any use. He bashed him full in the chest with the shield, knocking him back. Alistair then spun around and with force struck him across the head with the shield. The man went to his knees. Alistair walked to the other end of the hall and waited. The man with effort gained his feet and with fire in his eyes, screamed a battle cry and charged. Alistair stood in his stance nearly motionless and waited. The soldier ran towards him, full of sound and fury and still Alistair did not move. Just as the sword was being raised above him, Alistair punched the soldier in the throat. The soldier's windpipe was crushed. He fell to his knees, as his sword dropped to the floor behind him. Alistair walked to where his armor and weapons were laying and picked up his father's sword. He walked slowly and purposefully back to the solider, standing in front of him. The solider looked up to him and Alistair could see that at least he understood and with a quick and almost gentle motion, he slit the soldier's throat.

The soldier collapsed onto the stone floor, his life blood pooling around him. Not a single sound could be heard in the hall. Alistair looked to see the shocked faces of the audience, staring at him. Well, now that he had their attention, he realized that he really should have read that book on oratory first. Too late for that now, he'd just have to wing it.

Eamon ran through the halls of the palace or something close to running. He was not a young man and had badly twisted his knee during the Battle for Denerim. It still caused him a slight limp. One that he barely noticed and that, as most nobles who are wounded in battle, he was quite proud of. But now it slowed him down. Reports from Fort Draken had been flowing in. Nearly every servant, soldier, day laborer, and grocery had heard the story and as the time went on, the story changed and grew. Trying to figure out what had actually happened would be harder and harder the longer he delayed going to the fort himself to find out the truth or as much of it as possible. But he was waiting, hoping to talk to Alistair himself. There had been a couple reports that he had returned to the palace but he had searched and had every servant searching the place and he was nowhere to be found. Now he was searching for the queen, if anyone knew where Alistair was, it would be her. He turned the corner and nearly collided with Kathryn. "Oh, my dear. I am so sorry. But please... where is Alistair?"

"I don't know. What is going on?" She answered, collecting herself.

"You do not know?" He asked nearly incredulous. At this point she must be the only person in Denerim who did not know.

"No, Eamon, I was in the library waiting on Alistair to return from the fort. What is it? What has happened?" Eamon did his best to enlighten her as to what he knew as they made their way to the front door.

Once there Eamon put on his heavy cloak and turned back to the queen. "I am going to the fort to try to find out what happened and see if Alistair is still there. You do not know where he might have gone do you?"

The queen gently shook her head, "No, I have no idea." Eamon looked at her for a moment. He wasn't sure if he should believe her or not. He doubted greatly that she truly had no idea where he might be but she was, what one who was looking to be complimentary might say, diplomatic or what one who was more interesting in the truth would say, a good liar. But she was equally hard to pin down and there was little point trying to get information from her she had no intent of divulging. He fastened his cloak and with a nod, stepped out.

The queen for her part, smiled a slight smile after Eamon and then hurried to the royal apartments. She had to change.


	2. Chapter 2

The tavernkeeper at The Broken Sword methodically cleaned the bar. It was getting late and patrons would be arriving soon. His place did good business both with the local laborers and with the sailors, mercs, travelers, and other adventures passing through. Everyone was welcome here, elf, dwarf, human, Orlesian, Antivan, Rivani, didn't matter to him as long as they paid their tab and didn't cause trouble. While it was a rough neighborhood here by the docks, he kept order inside. As an ex-solider not many could take him, even when they were sober and fewer if they were drunk. Most didn't even try. He had quit the army after being injured in the battle of West Hill, leg still gave him trouble on cold nights. After he had recovered he had went back to that place and found his sword still lying where he had fallen, broken into three pieces. He had worked the docks, dawn till dusk for years till he had enough money to buy this place and marry the smart mouthed Rivani prostitute that worked this street. It was the Maker's own luck that she just happened to be an excellent cook. They had good food and the best imported spirits and a reputation. It was the kind of place you could find out things, hear things, a place where you could make your name known or be completely anonymous.

The place was close to empty. There were only a couple traveling merchants by the door and one man sitting in one of the more private booths in the back. He kept an eye on him. He had ordered one of the finer Antivan brandies, by name. Those type of people have two things, good taste and lots of coin. They usually run up a pretty good tab and tip well. The other reason he watched him was that even inside and hidden in the back, he kept his hood low over his eyes. Nearly all he could see of him was the dark blond goatee. He could also tell that he was someone who could handle himself. People like that are hiding from something or someone and can be trouble and he didn't like trouble in his place.

He was hoping someone came in soon. He had heard a story from the grocer about a duel at Fort Draken between the king and one of Loghain's soldiers. Normally the grocer was a reliable source for information but the tale seemed nearly impossible, which made him all the more eager to tell it. He prided himself on knowing all the rumors and the best gossip. Finally the light faded and many of the regulars trickled in. Between the rounds of ale and bowls of stew the story was told over and over. The man in the back ordered two more glasses of brandy.

The place was soon packed, filled to the rafters with the smell of ale and the dull roar of conversation. The notes from the bard rising above it all. The tavern keeper was so busy that he didn't see the woman walk in and she was someone he would notice. Beautiful, sure, but you could tell by the way she walked, by her manner and poise that she was not to be trifled with lightly. She was a woman who could walk into a place like this without fear or hesitation and there weren't many of those around. She made her way into the place looking over the patrons. A few offered her a seat but she kept walking, brushing off each attempt to get her attention. She saw the man in the back booth and made her way through the crowd to that table and sat down across from him, not waiting for an invitation. Now the tavern keeper noticed. He didn't want anyone bothering what might be his best tab of the night or a man who might be trouble if he was found and didn't want to be. He told his wife to cover the bar and went over to check on them.

The tavern keeper was a man used to reading the tenor of a situation and the countenance of people and he could tell right away that the two were on friendly terms and most likely had shared a bed at some point, probably still did. But more importantly the man was glad she had arrived. In fact, it occurred to him that he had been waiting for the woman this entire time. He walked up and said "May I get you something?" The woman looked up at him.

"Yes, open a bottle of the oldest Orlesian red wine you have." She said with the air of one used to giving orders and having them obeyed.

"Yes, my lady. I'll send the waitress right over with it." He didn't use that term for all his female patrons but he could tell that she qualified, noble or not. He looked to the man, who waved off another drink. He bowed slightly and somewhat awkwardly and walked away. The woman waited till he was out of earshot and then looked to the man.

"I heard an interesting rumor on my way here." She said. The man took another drink of his brandy. "About how the king was challenged by one of the captains of Loghain's army to a duel and that he stripped to his small-clothes gave the man his armor and weapons and then proceeded to choke the life out of him with his bare hands."

"Is that what happened?" The man said with a voice deep in drink but clear and sober. "I figured that he'd have torn the man's head off, or ripped out his throat with his teeth or something."

"No doubt that will be what happened by morning." she said. "Maybe you can tell me what you heard?" The elven waitress arrived with the bottle of wine and glass. She poured the wine, waited just long enough to see that she was no longer needed, and then left. The woman picked up the glass and after taking a quick sniff, took a small sip and waited. The man set his glass down, stroking the side with his thumb.

"The story I heard was not quite so outrageous. I heard... that the king was confronted and challenged by one of Loghain's soldiers, and that he did remove the royal armor, laid aside his father's sword and royal shield. That he took only a simple wooden shield and proceeded to... kick the man's ass. Then he... picked up his father's sword and... as his right for winning the duel and by the power as sovereign ruler of Ferelden... executed him." He took another sip and set the glass back down. "Then having got the undivided attention of all the soldiers, he went on about his love for the country and not suffering anyone who would threaten the safety and sovereignty of Ferelden. Some of the soldiers were moved to swear oaths, even some of Loghain's. It was a good speech. One of my better ones."

She finished off the glass and poured herself another and waited. He started again. "I... I knew it would happen, eventually. It had to, someone would finally say what many thought. I really expected it at the landsmeet, but..."

"Are you alright? You aren't... hurt?" She blurted out. He looked at her cocking his head to the side. She could feel the stare even if she couldn't exactly see it.

"Are you, of all people, really asking me that?" He asked with some incredulity.

"Sorry, I had to ask." She said, eyes begging forgiveness for the slight, hoping her concern for him would make up for it. "He was a captain in Loghain's army, at least that was what I heard. He might have gotten lucky." She explained.

"Please..., it wasn't even close. I mean... if I can't defeat a soldier even a well-trained one, in a straight duel... I don't deserve to be kin... alive." He looked around to make sure no one was paying any attention to their conversation. They weren't. "He thought I was some royal whelp still wet behind the ears who didn't know the pommel of a sword from the pointy end. He thought I was Cailan." Kathryn noted how he said the former king's name as though it was an insult. "The poor bastard." He took another sip and then continued. "I know I had to and really he did me a favor, making a scene there in front of most of the army... but I could have walked away. I could have had him... arrested, but I didn't. I... killed him and I didn't have to."

"Didn't you?" She asked and then waited till he looked at her. "If you hadn't done it, if you had walked away, they all would have thought you a coward, and you know it."

"I know." He said softly, and finished the last of his brandy. "Doesn't mean I have to like it." He said setting down the empty glass.

"I'd be worried if you did." She said. She leaned forward and pointed to the blood on the sleeve of his shirt. "This is the blood that makes a king." She whispered.

"It's not mine." he admitted.

"I know." She said. "The blood you are willing to spend, even if it isn't your own to do what you know you must." She sat back and took another drink. "At times being a good man and a good ruler are not compatible." She said with some surety.

He smiled a smile that had just a touch of bitterness to it. "Did you just come up with that?" He asked. "It's good... and it seems true."

"No, my father said it, many times." She said. He cocked his head slightly at the mention of her father. She didn't talk about him much, if at all.

He chose his words carefully. "From all I hear, your father was a good ruler and a good man, well-loved and well-respected." He said gently.

"He was." She said with only a slight flinch at the word 'was'.

"So, how did he manage it?" He asked.

"At times he didn't, but he tried and that's what's important." She said. Her eyes lost a bit of focus, thinking back over fond memories, and smiling at them weakly. She continued. "He said that ruling is the highest duty. It must be, even more than to yourself, or to family, or to even to the Maker. The principle must be the most good for the most people. You do what is necessary but that is not the same as victory at all costs."

"He told me that while you want your subjects to love you, they must respect you... your fair judgment, your morals, the strength of your convictions, your dedication to the people... to Ferelden. There is no other position where you can affect the happiness and well-being of so many." She waited giving the words space, letting them sink in, giving him time to consider what she said and realize the truth of them for himself. He nodded thoughtfully.

She looked under the hood, making sure she had his eye, and then said "And the fact that you are here, not getting drunk but trying to sort through what you know to be necessary and what you know to be right... that's what's important. That you try. That you still care... even about some soldier who hates you."

He gave a half smile and then with gravity said. "Some would say that... that caring is a weakness."

"And they are wrong. To harden your heart to the point it feels nothing, is easy. To care despite the hurt it causes, to feel that pain and continue on, that is strength." She said with conviction.

He took a long look at her, then shook his head. "How did you do it? So much was riding on everything you did, every decision you made. How were you able to deal with all that and still stay... sane... stay... you?" He asked.

"I had you." she said simply.

"I'm serious..."

"So, am I." She said making sure he understood that she meant it. "You were a friend when I needed one above all else. Anytime I wanted to give in and steel myself completely I knew that it would mean I would lose that friendship, and it meant too much to me. Then despite the risks and potential for pain and tragedy you cared, you had the courage to love..." She stopped and smiled.

She leaned across the table. Her voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "All those nights together, when there was no blight or civil war, just us in the dark, you reminded me why all this was worth saving. You made sure I could never stop caring. That I never lost myself in all that. That's why I wouldn't lose you, couldn't lose you... It was your strength, that quiet strength of yours, that helped me through. Never doubt that."

He smiled a shy smile, then looked serious. "Is that why you made me king? Despite all my protests that I didn't want it, because you saw that... in me."

"In part, but then again the alternative was not really an option." She said. He smiled. "But I wouldn't have done it if I didn't truly think you could do it and if you hadn't truly wanted it."

"I changed. You changed me." He said.

"No, I didn't. I simply pointed the way, but it was you. Your choice, your decision." She replied.

He shook his head slightly and said. "But only with your support, without that... I never would have... You... had confidence in me... believed... no one had ever... and you made me believe it too. I can't even tell you how much it meant... still means to me." He said with emotion.

"I believe it is a fair trade, as it should be." She said.

He reached his hand across the table and she took it. He leaned forward, bringing it under the edge of the hood and kissed it. Then reluctantly lowered it to the table but did not let it go.

She looked to him and then asked. "So after all this, knowing what is means and what it entails and what it costs... do you still want to be king?"

He stared at her hand clenched in his, for several moments and then looked back to her, holding her eyes and said. "More than ever."

The tavern keeper walked up to the table. "Can I get you two something else?"

"Yes," the man said with a smile "...we would like... a room for the night, the top one with the window... and two bowls of your lamb and pea stew with another bottle of wine."

"Yes, ser. Oh, I did not know if you two had heard the news? About the incident at the fort... with the king." He asked hopefully.

"No, do tell." She said with a great deal of interest.

"Well, it seems one of that traitor's captains challenged the king, right there in the fort! Said he wasn't nothing without all his fancy armor and weapons. So what's the king, do, he stripped down till he is naked and then without sword or shield or even a penknife, he breaks the man's arm and leg and then breaks his neck, with his bare hands, he does! That's our king for you! So there he stands drenched in the traitor's blood and the whole of the army fall to their knees and swear loyalty to him till death! It was something to see, I hear!" The tavern keeper said proudly.

"Wow, his bare hands huh?" She said and looked to the man with eyes wide.

"That's what I heard, from someone who was there and saw the whole thing." He said glad he could enlighten them with reliable information. He had a reputation to maintain.

"I don't know about the part about being naked," the man said "...seems rather unkingly, don't you think?"

The tavern keeper shrugged. "Well, from what the fort washwomen said, and they were there, the king's got nothing to be ashamed of." He walked away.

Kathryn looked thoughtful and said "Well, at least there is some truth to the story."


End file.
